The Little House

by Virginia Lee Burton

Copyright 1942

1943 Caldecott Medal winner

 

The passage of time – 

      Hour to hour

      Day to night

      Season to season

      Decade to decade

The beautifully detailed watercolors and charming story of a sturdy little house with a soul tells the story of the passage of time.  

A man builds a house way out in the country.  He builds it so well that he expects many generations to live there.  This house is very happy while watching time go by.  She watches the children play in the brook, swim in the pool, go off to school, and sled on the snow-covered hills.  Far off in the distance, the little house sees the lights of the big city and is curious about what it would be like to live there. 

Over the years, the little house senses change in its country setting.  First the city lights appear closer.  Then a paved road is built in front of the house.  Other houses start appearing nearby.  These changes are gradual, but eventually, the little house finds herself surrounded by tall buildings and the noise and lights of the city.  Soon, an elevated train appears and the little house can even feel the rumble of the subway. 

  

Don’t worry, though… a happy ending is in sight.  The sad and lonely little house is discovered by the great-great-granddaughter of the original builder who realizes the house belongs in the country.  As the house was built so well, it can be lifted from its foundation and moved by truck many miles away until it is once more sitting on a hill, surrounded by apple trees and green grass.

This book is a perfect example of an important truth.

Hour by hour, season by season, year by year – our world changes.  Whether or not we view these changes as progress or decline, the change will come.  Don’t let these changes allow you to forget the past.  

This is one reason why I have a passion for old books.  Sure, I appreciate my Kindle at times.  But walking into my home library, I can pick up and hold in my hands memories and knowledge of years past and even generations past.  When the literal or figurative noise and lights of the city get to be too much, I can transport myself back to the beauty and peace of the countryside. 

I will not let progress allow me to forget the past.